


The Good In Me

by regardingseas



Series: Dream SMP One-Shots [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Contemplating Life While Dying, Friends Wanting Change, Gen, Hallucinations, I Painted Dream as a Huge Villain Last Time So This Is To Make Up For It, Internal Conflict, It Is Edited Though, It's a Tiny Bit Of Redemption, No Beta We Die Like Dream In This Fic, Shock, Temporary Character Death, Three Lives System, War, as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardingseas/pseuds/regardingseas
Summary: It's said that the mind can do funny things when faced with death. Time may seem to slow, there may be false perceptions of reality, or life as a whole may suddenly be put into question.In the middle of a war against everyone he's ever known, Dream finds out what dying is like firsthand. It's a sore way to go about it, but maybe he'll come out of things a better man.
Relationships: But Take It As You Will And There Are Implications Of Dream/George, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), It's All Platonic/Familial, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: Dream SMP One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046515
Kudos: 81





	The Good In Me

**Author's Note:**

> Non-permadeath AU, but imagine that only canon deaths have occurred. There are three lives, and that's it. Enjoy!

Dream paced behind the wall of stone he'd created for cover, sturdy constructions keeping him safe from enemy fire so long as he didn't become careless. Icy powder bruised into the dead grass with each stride, the snowfall of December having refused to let up even with the sun beaming at high noon. His fingers were pale and numb under his gloves, so fixated on keeping a continuous grip on his crossbow that he hadn't taken the time to warm them. 

He needed to be prepared at all times. No one was on his side anymore.

They truly seemed to believe that they could stand against him, all huddled at the base of the mountain he'd lain claim to. It was a cheap tactic, leaving Dream with no way of knowing if they planned to wait him out in a silly game of cat and mouse, or if they were planning some kind of surprise attack. The uncertainty was grating at his nerves, though he supposed that was the point.

But that didn't matter. At least, not in the grand scheme of things. The others had one foot in the grave, with how many of them he'd wounded or killed. According to his calculations, all of those he'd assassinated had at least one remaining life, so none of their demises should be permanent. Even so, it would likely be taking them a while to respawn with the amount of damage he'd done, and with any luck that wouldn't happen until he had this whole ordeal under control.

Dream would have to make a lot of changes when this all blew over, no doubt. He'd need to find a way to balance a façade of common interest and understanding with cracking down on rules. It wouldn't be an easy cocktail of tactics to stomach, but he could do it. He already had a plan in place, after all. The leaders of the rebellion would be locked in his prison, and as for the followers, he was certain he could play to their cards.

He paused his paces as his communicator buzzed in his ear, alerting him through a system he'd built himself that it was time to investigate the enemy. 

Methodically, Dream retrieved a pair of binoculars from his inventory and set aside his mask in favour of equipping the eyepiece, gazing over his barrier with the wondrous aid of magnification. Below him, he observed pawns strewn across the chess board that was his land. The majority of people were under cover like himself, and those who weren't all worked with haste and diligence. 

Almost all of them, at least.

The ghost of Wilbur was openly plucking flowers from beneath the sheets of white blanketing the ground-- assumingly gathering them in order to decorate the area and boost morale. He wasn't someone that Dream paid much mind to, not after he'd tried shooting him only for the arrow to phase right through his form and plant itself into the ground. Not only had he made a fool of himself, but it had also made the others far more alert, much to Dream's dismay. He ignored the spirit after that, he was harmless now anyway.

To the left and back of the spector, however, were two influential very teens, seemingly huddled together beside a fire for relief from the cold. He could tell that Tommy was bickering as usual, and in turn Tubbo was laughing over words Dream could not hear. Though that didn't matter, as it became apparent they were out of firing range anyway.

He scanned the area further, passing over all of those who weren't a realistic target before finally stumbling across a pair he deemed close enough to be hit. They were both young men with dark hair, --one with brown, the other black-- and they appeared to be gathering firewood from the forefront of a forest.

Dream stood atop the stump of a logged tree and readied his crossbow, steadying his aim by leaning on his barrier. He'd have to act fast, lest they spot him; but if he were quick enough, he could take down both men in flawless succession.

He smirked and nocked an arrow into his bow, lining it up with his prey in the distance. His finger ghosted over the trigger, hovering just above it until he knew he'd have the perfect shot.

_Deep breath in..._

_Shoot in 3, 2--_

All at once, he realized who he'd been aiming at, and against his own fruition the crossbow was dropped from his hands. It clattered over the opposing end of his blockade, tumbling down the side of the mountain while he could only stand in awe. Shouts erupted from below, there was no way they hadn't seen him, but it was purely autopilot making him to step down from his stump and onto solid ground.

"George, Sapnap…" the names fell from his mouth without even trying.

He'd been aiming his enchanted crossbow right at George and Sapnap, fully intent on killing them, and he hadn't even processed who they were.

His hands flew up to grip his hair, eyes wide with comprehension as he pulled and tugged at the strands.

"I didn't even- how did I not even recognize them? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the _fuck?"_

Dream stepped back again, boots dragging through the snow as hot, panicked breath formed clouds in front of him. He retreated further and further, as if he could escape the corruption he'd been drowning in for months by simply reversing his strides.

The world was spinning too fast, and his head was too full. It was certainly below freezing outside, but he was still burning. On fire as the reality of how low he'd sunken finally hit him.

A metallic glint flashed before his eyes, and suddenly he was stumbling backwards with an arrow embedded in his chest. White hot pain flashed alongside his recognition, knees buckling and sending him crashing against a tree for support. He slumped back, sliding down the trunk with a desperate gasp.

His eyes darted down to the arrow, mind rattled with fresh shock as his vision rolled in and out of focus. The barb was nowhere to be seen, lodged so deep into his chest that only the dark fletchings at the arrow's end were visible.

Dream tried to pull himself back to reality, trembling fingers reaching towards the tinted feathers.

_Dark_. His mind offered frantically. _Why are they so dark? Is it magic? Tipped with a potion?_

He wasn't aware of a potion that brewed to the colour of pitch. If his eyes were playing tricks on him, maybe it had simply inflicted extra damage, with the deep indigo disguising itself as black and--

A scream tore itself from his throat, as involuntary and abrupt as the unnatural pain coursing through him. His body collapsed further against his will, falling sideways into the grass. Dream wretched for air, fingers digging into the soil in an attempt to find composure.

The pain had vanished almost as quickly as it surfaced, but its necrotic nature was more than enough to warn him it that wouldn't stay gone for long. The agony of the wither's wrath was unmistakable, and it always came in waves.

Another cry broke past his lips, blood dripping out alongside it. His chest was growing tighter, and through his daze he could only assume the arrow had punctured his lung. 

Instinct led him to roll onto his side, the taste of copper lacing his tongue as he moved. His nails dug into his gloves, clawing at the dirt until his knuckles blanched. Red was beginning to pool around him, and tears threatened his eyes whenever the arrow rattled from breath.

Shakily, he moved to tug up the sleeve of his sweater, eyeing the life indicators hidden beneath. Three simple hearts trailed down his forearm, perfectly shapen like finely inked tattoos. They'd been there for as long as he could remember, signifying how many times his body was allowed to fail before succumbing permanently to the void. He'd witnessed others lose their lives many times-- watched the shapes fade from a mystical crimson to a dull grey. Hell, he'd even been the cause of it _recently_ , but he'd never experienced it himself.

That was, until now, as he lay watching the colour drain from the heart nearest his wrist.

"F-fuck…" he swore, choked through the blood rising in his throat. 

Dream spit the frothy red into the grass, struggling to stifle a scream as the withering toxins ripped apart his cells from the inside out. He exhaled slow, allowing shallow wheezes of air to fill his lungs.

"Dream..?" A familiar voice echoed distantly, coming slowly into focus through its repetition, "Dream? How'd this happen?"

The blond locked eyes with a blurry outline he knew to be George, the man appearing strangely calm despite the situation. He still donned his battle gear, -armour stained with blood and axe strapped to his back- but he spoke in a tone better fitted for when a disappointed parent scolded their child, all wrong for watching his old friend die in front him.

"Wh-what? Why are you..?" Dream tried, but was quickly quieted by the man before him.

George knelt down, extending a steady hand to brush the disheveled hair from Dream's forehead. He hadn't even noticed how his once wavy locks clung onto beads of sweat until they were already swept aside, surprised by how much better it felt just to have them gone.

"Did- did you do this..?" He asked, unsure if it could be the reason for the other man's bizarre repose. _Too calm, he was too calm._

George shook his head, fingers beginning to card through Dream's hair for comfort when writhed under a new wave of pain. "No… I didn't. I can't save you right now, but I also couldn't kill you, just as you couldn't kill me."

Dream's breathing faltered as the pain receded, staring ahead tearfully. George's goggles were pushed atop his head, allowing Dream to see the hurt behind his deep brown eyes.

"But- then why are you..?"

"I needed to see you," George supplied, "Needed to talk with you when you didn't already have the upper hand, and you couldn't pretend anymore."

Dream narrowed his eyes in bewilderment, and so the brunet continued.

"What led you here, Dream..? You didn't used to be like this; so tyrannical and curel. Don't you remember when we first came to this land? You still played leader, sure, but we were a team," George frowned, "More than that… we were friends. You, me, Sap, Bad, we were inseparable."

Another scream died in Dream's throat, and George coaxed him through the scalding pain with a hush.

"Shhh… Beathe, Dream. It's okay," he soothed, fingers still running through the blond's hair. "You do remember that, don't you? Those were good times. There was no war or sides to choose from, and you let yourself care about things. About the Community House, about Spirit, about us…"

"G-George…" he tried again, but the sound of crunching snow drew him from his thoughts. Squinting through his haze, he saw Sapnap and Bad following George's path to him. Sapnap sat beside him in spite of the sleet, and Bad allowed himself to lean against the large oak tree.

"The others stopped fighting," Sapnap informed, the claim of which was supported by the lack of clamour and explosions in the distance. "They don't see a need to fight without you instigating it."

Bad nudged Sap's leg with his foot, shaking his head in distaste. "Things don't have to be like this forever, Dream… I- I know you have the capacity to be a good person, I've seen it."

Tears rolled down Dream's cheeks, and George was quick to wipe them away with a gentle stroke of his thumb. "Listen… don't you hear that? Isn't it nice?"

Dream listened intently, trying to force his ears to work properly despite their ringing. His vision was already tunneling, with his friends' words growing progressively muddier as time went on, like they were speaking to him from under water.

With his best efforts, he could make out the soft sounds of his friends' breathing in contrast to his ragged wheezes. More snow crunched beneath Bad's weight as he moved to kneel opposite of George, fresh white flakes floating downward and creating temporary contrasts on his black hood. A breeze rolled through, jostling the leafless branches and whistling the low melody of nature he hadn't taken the time to savour in years.

He was dying, but the world was still turning. 

Beyond that-- the world was peaceful.

"Control doesn't have to mean everything," Bad said, "Caring doesn't make you weak, or susceptible to others will."

Sapnap nodded, "You'd be so much stronger-- so much _happier_ if you left this behind you in the next life."

Dream's eyes flickered back down to his arm, where the first heart was nearly void of all colour.

"What- what do you even know..?" he managed, "What makes- makes you think I'd even _consider_ that again..? After everything..?"

The three friends looked between one another, seeming to hold a conversation with nothing but a silent glance. When turned back to Dream, George sighed softly and slid his hand down Dream's arm, thumbing over the man's greying heart.

"Because, Dream…" George whispered, the distant echo of celebratory cheers and blasting fireworks finding their way to his ears.

"Be-because..?" he choked out in wonder, "What do you mean..?"

George slowly rose to his feet, and Dream could just barely make out a scene far behind him that had previously been obstructed. 

He watched a crowd of people jumping for joy while he lay bleeding. People he'd once called allies, called friends, called _family_ , they were all among them, and their happiness was genuine. That much was obvious by the way they threw their arms into the air and exclaimed of their victory.

Dream's head snapped back to where those very companions had been mere moments before, but he was met with nothing more than an empty span of land.

"Wh- what..?" he wept, "What..? Why..?"

_"Because…"_ said an accented voice belonging to no one, _"Someone had to conjure up the idea. And we're not really here..."_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated! How did it make you feel?


End file.
